


Closure

by Molly



Category: NSYNC
Genre: M/M, Popslash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-18
Updated: 2008-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Molly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In which it ain't actually broke, and Justin doesn't actually fix it. A Hiatus!sync love story, with group bonding. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Closure

Chris is happy and Lance is happy and JC is happy. Justin is happy for them, or maybe just glad, or whatever you are when you appreciate someone else's happiness but can't quite feel it for yourself. That's what he tells himself, though, that he's happy for them, and he nods sincerely when he says it because after all these years, Justin is very, very skilled at sincerity.

Joey is happy, too, so Justin isn't sure why it's Joey's doorstep now, except that Joey was always happy before so he's really the only one who hasn't changed. He has supporting roles in his movies now and he has a kid he's raised halfway up on his own, he has an ex-wife he adores who lives three blocks down, but he also has forty-seven Superman t-shirts, one of them framed and signed by Christopher Reeve, he's puffy in winter and lean in summer and always wide at the shoulders and the smile.

Joey smiles so much, Justin thinks, standing on the doorstep in the space between the ring and the answer. He can't wait to see him.

But when the door opens and Joey's standing there, Briahna peering out from behind his legs while Joey blinks and narrows his eyes, Justin doesn't know what to say. The back of his knee itches and the strap of his duffle is cutting a furrow into his shoulder and he needs a shave. He feels dirty underneath his stubble, worn down. He needs a shower, a comb, warm clean clothes that don't belong to him.

"Justin?" Joey says it like he isn't sure, like maybe he's going to close the door and make Justin ring the bell again so he can open it and find somebody else. Somebody who makes a little more sense standing on his doorstep.

"Justin! Justin Justin!"

She hits him at the knees and reaches to climb him by the belt loops; it's all he can do to keep his balance and help her swarm up, lock her pudgy arms around his neck and squeeze. He presses his face into her shoulder and breathes her in, sweet baby smell still clinging to her no matter how big she gets. "Hey, girl," he says into her shirt, "how you doin'?"

She starts talking and doesn't stop, too fast for him to catch it all, way too fast to answer back. He looks over the top of her head at Joey instead, watches Joey watch him.

"Yo," Justin says. He smiles, and it feels weak and strange on his face because he means it. "Hey, Joey."

Then he's breathing through the weave of Joey's shirt, crushed into his shoulder, big warm arms wrapped around his back and lifting him off the ground, him and Bri both. It's like an assault, and Justin squeezes back so hard it makes his arm burn under the skin. His hand grips the back of Joey's neck and he squeezes there too and for a second it's so weird and disturbing and familiar it puts him off balance, it's like he's been thrown back in time and can't quite find his footing.

When Joey puts him down, Briahna's giggling hysterically. Justin can't stop smiling. Joey ruffles his hair and pokes him in the stomach and Justin grins harder, until Joey really looks at him and all the years of Superman crap have given him X-ray vision. "'Sup, J?"

Justin hears: _Where's Trace, where's your mom, where's Lonnie, where are all the people that help you be wherever you are?_ And he hears: _What's wrong, what do you need, are you okay?_ Or maybe he just sees it, because Joey is still Joey across any number of months or miles, so it's right there in his eyes.

Justin grips the strap of his bag with his free arm and kicks at his suitcase, abandoned when Briahna tackled him. It's just the stuff he pulled out of the closet back at the hotel in New York, out of the drawers, off the bathroom sink. He doesn't have his laptop or his handheld or his cell phone; he's only got one pair of shoes, and those are the ones he's wearing. His smile fades and a voice not unlike his mother's starts whispering in the back of his mind that he's making assumptions, presumptions, intruding where he hasn't been invited. He shuts it out, shuts it down, because this is Joey.

"I think." He clears his throat, eyes on anything but Joey, trying not to look too needy. He's twenty-four years old, three years into a six-month hiatus, and he feels fourteen. He hitches Bri up a little higher on his hip and meets Joey's questions head on. "I ran away from home."

Joey tilts his head. He grabs Justin's suitcase, smiles, and moves back from the door. "No, you didn't."

* * *

Inside, the house is cool and bright, windows throwing squares of afternoon sunshine across all the floors. Joey says, "Take him up to Lance's old room, honey," and Briahna puts her tiny hand in his and pulls. She's in a hurry, towing him up the stairs like a big misshapen sled.

"Hurry up, Justin!" she orders, and Justin slows down, grinning.

"I'm too old to go that fast," he says. "Ow, ow, my back."

Briahna stops three steps above him, looks back, and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right."

The room is big and airy, with a king-sized bed and a thousand or so feather pillows. There's change on the dresser and some t-shirts in the drawers and a suitcase on the floor.

"'Lance's old room'?" Justin puts his hands on his hips and glares down at Briahna as Lance steps out of the bathroom with a towel over his head and one wrapped around his waist.

Briahna giggles. So does Lance.

"Justin!" He's got an armful of Lance before he knows it and he's really concerned about that towel now, very concerned. He shoves Lance back and shakes him by the shoulders and grins.

"Dude. Somebody's been sleeping in my bed, and he's still there."

"Hey, don't rush me. Checkout's not till five." Lance wanders back into the bathroom, still toweling off his hair.

Justin sinks down on the bed. It gives just enough under him; he's gonna sleep great tonight. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Some radio thing," Lance shouts over the sound of running water. "C was on it, too. I think he's still around, staying downtown with a friend."

"JC has friends?"

Lance sticks his head around the door frame and grins like a shark. "Well, that's what JC calls her..."

While Lance gets dressed and gets ready to move out, Justin goes back downstairs. He finds Joey in the kitchen performing mysterious rituals with dead chicken and rice. Justin stands in the light from the picture window and watches from across the center island. Without his stuff to hold onto, he isn't sure what to do with his hands.

"Sit," Joey says. He waves at a stool with a gigantic knife, and Justin sits.

"What's for dinner?"

"Crab legs."

Justin blinks.

"Chicken, dork. You have seen raw chicken before in your life, haven't you? Tell me we didn't keep you that sheltered."

"I knew it was chicken! I just didn't know what you were gonna do with it." He tries to look hurt but Joey's grinning at him and it's not fair, the way he can't hold a pout when Joey does that. Some of the cold goes out of Justin's spine and he curls himself over the marble countertop, propping his chin on his hands. "You're gonna cook it first, right?"

Joey points with the knife again, this time at Justin's head. "You can eat dinner, or you can be dinner. Pick one."

"I'll eat, I'll eat. Dude, don't cut me."

Satisfied, Joey nods. He tosses the chicken into a wok on the stove and while he's got his eyes on the food he says, "You need to call anybody?"

Justin waits, but Joey doesn't look up. He shoves the chicken around with a wooden spoon and after a few seconds he starts humming to himself and Justin sighs.

"My mom knows where I am."

"She's your secretary now?"

"Joey, cut me some slack. I made arrangements, okay, I didn't leave anybody hanging."

"Okay, okay." Joey puts the spoon down and puts his hands flat on the counter and leans over, so close Justin can smell his cologne. It's sharp and peppery, subtle.

"I'm not having a breakdown."

"Of course not."

"I'm not having like, I'm not throwing some kinda fit, either. I just needed some time off."

"Well, there hasn't been a whole lot of hiatus in your Hiatus, that's for damn sure."

Joey looks up and grins, and Justin grins back. "I always did suck at vacations."

* * *

Dinner's good, because Joey's the best cook ever, better even than Justin's mom, though he'd never say that. Lance kicks him under the table, bouncing in his chair as his leg comes up. Justin kicks back and laughs, Lance laughs, and then they're both shaking with it. Warmth bubbles up in Justin's chest and he feels happy and dizzy and tired. He kills a six-pack by himself, bottles littering the center of the table and the heat of the alcohol rises up in his face and makes him grin. He kicks Lance again and Lance kicks back and Joey rolls his eyes.

"Okay," Joey says, "I think it's time for dessert."

Dessert is raspberries and cream laced with Grand Marnier, which Joey knows Justin loves. It's simple and tart and good, but it still feels grown-up. Sophisticated. Lance only kicks him one more time, when Joey's looking the other way, but Justin's face hurts now because it all feels so right and he can't stop smiling. He's missed them so much that being with them hurts, pins and needles through a part of his life he thought was done with him.

He eats slow, sitting on the couch, leaning over Joey's coffee table. He eats slow because when dinner's over Lance has a flight to catch and Justin doesn't want him to go. He wants him to stay with them and sit at the end of the couch and watch movies and talk until it's 6 am and there's sunrise peeking in through the windows.

Justin closes his eyes and imagines it: Joey's fallen asleep in the corner of the couch, because he's a dad and he's got to keep dad hours. The TV has long since gone to blue-screen and it's quiet and Joey's this warm solid presence behind him, this heat along his spine. Justin has his legs stretched out, over Lance's lap, and Lance has his head tilted back over the top of the cushions. They're talking, quiet so they don't wake up Joey, and Justin doesn't know what it's about but it makes him feel good, warm and uncomplicated.

He doesn't notice he's asleep until he wakes up. There's silver light dusting in through a window and there's a warm thick shape next to him that moves when he shifts under the covers.

"S'okay," Joey says, and Justin burrows down close, hands tucked into the small of Joey's back. Joey lets him. It's stupid and he's not fourteen and hasn't been for ten years but he's cold, and Joey's radiating heat like a furnace.

"Didn't say goodbye to Lance."

"S'okay," Joey mumbles. "Lance."

Justin waits, but that's all there is. He sighs, and feels Joey's t-shirt heat up under his mouth. He didn't get to say goodbye and it doesn't feel okay, but he's tired and his head is full of fuzz and he just can't keep his eyes open. He's dizzy and out of place and the bed is softer than he's used to, the room a different shape.

He whispers goodnight to Joey's back and tucks his head close and breathes deep, slow, even. He thinks he can sleep. Everything smells like Joey, and that means everything smells like home.

* * *

In the morning, sunlight knifes through the slits between the blinds and Justin wakes up blinking, one hand out to shade his eyes. Joey's stretched flat over the center of the bed and he's got all the blankets and more than his half of the sheets. He's snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors but Justin spent years sleeping through it, once upon a time. That's not what wakes him up now.

What wakes him up now is the smell of coffee filtering in through the open doorway, coffee and ... yeah, that's bacon. Justin's stomach rumbles.

Downstairs, Justin stops in the door to the kitchen and blinks. Lance is in front of the stove. He's wearing black sweats and a bright green t-shirt, and his hair is spiked up all over his head in ways that would make his stylist cringe. There's bacon heaped high on a plate and the coffee pot is making the nicest sounds Justin's ever heard. As far as Justin knows, Lance still makes the best coffee in the world.

"I can hear your stomach from all the way over there," Lance says. He throws a grin over his shoulder, and lifts some bacon out of the skillet. "Sit. There's gonna be breakfast in a few minutes."

"Where's our girl?"

"Kelly picked her up, around nine, I guess. It's her week. Joey came down to see her off, then went back to bed. You were still dead to the world."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda passed out on you." Justin shakes his head, grinning. "Not the first time I ever got drunk and woke up with a strange guy in my bed, but definitely the first time this ... week."

Lance laughs. "They don't come much stranger."

Justin looks at the floor and hides a smile because that's Lance, right there; nothing phases him. "Aren't you supposed to be in LA by now?"

"It'll still be there tonight." Lance shrugs and turns back to the skillet. "You eating, or what? It's just bacon. I tried some eggs, but the pan started to smoke and I was afraid the alarm would go off."

Justin rolls his eyes and goes to the stove instead of the table. He takes away Lance's spatula. "Stand aside."

* * *

Lance doesn't leave until the dishes have been stacked in the sink and Joey's come down for coffee. They lean on the counters sipping from thick white mugs and talking about the weather. There's a sprinkler going in Joey's back yard, water arcing up like scattered diamonds against the blue sky. It's a good day to be out of the city. Justin wants to stretch it out so they're standing there all morning, into the afternoon, but the coffee runs out and Lance rinses out his mug and goes upstairs to get dressed. Justin starts another pot, waits for it to start dripping, then steals a cup.

Joey gives Justin a look and rinses out his own mug. "He's just going to LA, you know. People come back from there all the time."

"I don't know, man. That place changes you." It's a weak joke but Justin finds a smile to go with it. "I just, it was nice, you know? Hanging out. It's been a while."

"I called JC while I was upstairs..."

"Yeah?" Justin stands up a little straighter. "Is he coming over?"

"He's got an early flight out. More radio. Boston, I think he said."

Justin frowns down into his coffee, which he's filled up with too much cream and not enough sugar. "Too busy for the old gang, huh? Solo success has really gone to that boy's head."

"He was here a few nights back for dinner. And he hit some clubs with me and Lance. He's been around."

The coffee's too hot; it burns going down, he can't even taste it. "Old home week, I guess. " He tries to keep the regret out of his voice but he's never been any good at this when it means something.

Joey pulls Justin's mug out of his fingers, sets it down and latches onto one of Justin's hands. "Nobody knew you were coming, J. You know, you haven't...you haven't been around in a while."

"I know." At first he was too busy, and then it had been so long he was afraid it would feel weird, and then it had been so long he knew it would feel weird. After that, he was just plain embarrassed. It shouldn't take a life crisis to get him back inside Joey's house.

But here he is. And it does feel weird. He misses Joey, sitting right next to him he misses Joey. It doesn't seem fair.

He wants to say, _Come back with me, sing with me, let's do it all over again._ He wants to say, _let's drop everything and spend the next year taking over MTV_. It's what he came here to say, it's what he's going to say, but he can't say it now with Joey looking at him like that, so sweet and worried, so ready to give him whatever he wants.

So for now, he says, "I think it's cool." He draws his hand back, curls the fingers protectively into his palm. "It's great, you know, it's how we said it would be." A year into the hiatus, when JC wanted to maybe tour if his stuff came together and Justin had a couple of songs for his second album.

"Justin, man." Joey runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. He looks at Justin sideways, eyes curious and worried. "I'm here for you, you know that. I just gotta ask, did you call Chris yet? Because this is really sounding like a Chris thing."

"I talk to Chris all the time. He's got some stuff going on in Texas, I may see him in a month or so."

"Oh." Joey nodded, turning his own mug of coffee between his palms. "Okay, well, that's cool."

Justin stands up and slaps Joey's shoulder. He finds a smile that looks like it means something. "It's cool, Joe, I'm cool. I'm a little tired, but I'm cool."

"You know there's not a single thing any of us wouldn't drop if you needed us."

Justin nods. He squeezes Joey's arm, dumps his mug into the sink, and nods again. "I know. I do know."

"Not a damn thing," Joey says to his back and Justin heads back upstairs. Justin just waves over his shoulder, keeps going and lets the smile slide off his face.

_Not a damn thing._ That's kind of what he's afraid of.

* * *

He does talk to Chris all the time, and Chris is full of plans. He's put a group together in Texas, and he's so excited Justin gets excited, too. There's a snap in Chris's voice, a bright fun thrill Justin hasn't heard in he can't remember how long. Germany, maybe, when they were still sharing rooms and praying America wouldn't hate them.

Upstairs, he dials Chris's number and lays back on Lance's bed. The sheets are warm from the sun and smell like Lance. It's weird, Justin thinks, the way he can tell them all apart like that. Weird and good. It feels solid.

Chris picks up on the fifth ring, just before it flips over to voicemail. "Omigod, it's Justin Timberlake!"

"Ha," Justin says dryly. "Amazing how that never gets old."

"How's the Big Apple?"

"It looks a lot like Orlando." Justin pulls one arm back for a headrest, grinning up at the ceiling.

"Aw, kid. Hang on a sec." Chris never remembers the mute button so Justin hears him shouting _"Hey, go get some food or something, I gotta take this--"_ and a door slams, and another, and then it's quiet.

"Sounds busy over there."

"Swear to God, it's like herding cats, Justin." Chris sounds so happy about it he could bust. "If it ain't the guitarist it's the drummer and if it ain't the drummer it's his fucking girlfriend. Rock music, man. It's got a disproportionate number of straight guys and every single one of 'em's whipped."

Justin laughs so hard it takes him by surprise, and it's no wonder because Chris's voice always does that and Joey is right an awful lot of the time. Something to file away. "Dude, that's so wrong to say."

"Hey, I didn't say I had anything against them. I love straight guys. For a long time I wanted to be one, you know."

"No fucking way."

"I did! I was gonna be our token straight guy, swear."

"What happened to that plan?"

"Well, we picked up C, so I thought we had it covered. And German guys are really fucking hot."

Justin laughs again and presses the phone tight against his ear. It's like a long-distance hug, and maybe Chris can't feel it, but Justin can. "I miss you, dude. We need to hook up."

"Pick a time and place, man."

"You pick."

"Tomorrow good for you?"

Justin's breath catches in his throat and he can almost feel Chris grabbing him around the shoulders, lifting him up off the ground. "Jesus, are you serious? Fuck, yeah. You mean it?"

"I don't know, let me check my calendar. Yup, I'm serious. I'll catch a car from the airport, show up sometime in the afternoon."

"Chris, you don't know how good this is."

"Like fuck I don't," Chris snaps. "I haven't seen you in six months, ass. You better be ready to entertain me when I get there, too. I expect the star treatment."

"We'll dust off the red carpet." Justin rolls his eyes at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Chris's voice goes low and warm. "You're okay, right? Tell me if you're not."

"I'm a little bored." Justin smiles at the phone, wishing Chris could see it. "I miss you guys."

"Where'd we go?"

"Nowhere I didn't want you to." Which isn't saying they didn't go too far, not exactly, so it's not exactly like he's lying. "I love what you guys are doing. Joey's raising this beautiful kid. You're out there warping young artists, clearly your mission in life. Lance is almost at his twenty million, and you just know he's gonna spend it all in one place. I don't think I've ever been prouder of any of you."

"I hear JC's got some stuff going on, too," Chris says lightly. "Some kind of music thing...?"

Justin huffs a breath into the phone. "You don't have to tell _me_." JC doesn't have to tell him, either, which is apparent from the fact that he hasn't. "I'm proud of him, too. He's kicking ass."

"And yet?"

"I don't know." It's Chris, so it's okay to say, "I miss him. Hell, I miss a lot of stuff, Chris. I think I have empty nest syndrome."

Laughter rings out over the line. Justin grins down into the mouthpiece and twists the cord between his fingers. "Justin, you're happy, too."

"Am not."

"You fucking are. Bored does not equal unhappy. Just do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Go ask Joey."

"Joey told me I should call you."

"Well," Chris says, "Now you have."

"Dork." Justin rolls his eyes. "I fucking hate you."

"Love you, too, you big girl." When Chris hangs up, Justin is still laughing.

* * *

The thing about being on top of the world is, it's really fucking lonely. And he can't really tell anybody about it, because nobody gets it. Justin Superstar Timberlake, lonely? It sounds like a punch line.

This is what Justin's thinking about after he hangs up, already missing Chris, missing Lance and JC, missing Joey who's right downstairs. Those last few weeks on tour he missed them all so much, Trace started missing them, too. "Seems like you didn't whine nearly so much when they were around," Trace had said, laughing at him, and Justin had tackled him for it even though he knew it was true.

Maybe he wouldn't have done anything about it, Justin thought, but then Trace had dropped off the tour in Colorado like a rock into a deep, dark well. Some girl had been hanging around and then Trace was hanging around her and then he was taking some vacation days and then he was gone. Justin had called him a few times but the last time Trace had said, "Jesus, Justin, I love you, man, but get a fuckin' life," and if that wasn't the funniest thing Justin had ever heard, it had to be pretty damn close. He had a life, he had enough life for twenty normal guys, thirty if they were anything like Trace, and he'd piled all that into a five-page email and hit send so hard the button on his mouse needed to be replaced.

Trace hadn't answered. Trace probably hadn't gotten out of bed yet.

_I have a life_, Justin says to himself, lying in the sun on his bed. He's in Joey's house because the walls of his empty hotel room were making his eyes itch, his oldest friend ditched him for some chick from catering and he's probably gonna come back broke or married or both; and he doesn't really think he wants to sing anymore, not the way he has been, not the way he has to now.

Not alone.

He's in Joey's house because Trace is getting laid and his mom's got a business and he's tired, he just wants to sleep forever, except he can remember when things were better and that makes him want to wake up, which makes it even worse. He's the most ungrateful bastard the world has ever known and he's done everything he ever wanted and gotten everything he ever wanted and he doesn't have a clue what's next.

But he's in Joey's house, and Lance was there, and Chris will be there, too. It's like crawling back into the womb, warm and safe. He wants it back, all of them, all of it, and he shouldn't ask. He's pretty sure they'll give it to him whether they want it or not. He shouldn't ask, but he's pretty sure he's going to.

That's his life. Maybe it's kind of a pathetic life, but he has it.

* * *

When he comes downstairs, Joey's waiting for him and he's got car keys in his hand. A smile breaks over Joey's face when he sees him. That smile always means something good, so Justin smiles back and they get in Joey's car and drive.

And drive.

Joey's got hats in the back seat and shades in the glove compartment, and it doesn't matter how famous they get, somehow it always works. Justin groans when they pull up into the parking lot of a putt-putt golf course, and groans louder when he sees which one it is.

"I told you, Timberlake--"

"Jesus, Joey, that was six years ago."

"I'm a very patient man, with an ass that does not forget when it's been kicked." Joey slid on a pair of wraparound shades and grinned at Justin like a shark. "Especially when the guy who kicked it is a stone-cold cheat."

"Oh, now I know you ain't startin' in with the trash talk, Fatone."

"You and me at the Big Pink Windmill, Timberlake. I'm takin' your ass to _school_."

"Joe, dawg, you ain't street." Justin pushes his shades up higher on his nose and grins out from under his cap. "It's sad, yo. Really, I hurt for you."

* * *

They play until breakfast wears off and the putters start to look tasty. Justin's got thirty points on Joey when they quit; Joey's already grumbling about a rematch. Joey's got his shades off now and his cap on backwards and Justin can't stop looking at him. It doesn't make any sense, how nobody recognizes Joey, how the kids are failing to mob him, until Justin remembers it's been three years of award shows and bit parts and Broadway for Joey, and things aren't the way they used to be. It's just that he looks so much like he always looked, and Justin loves him like he's always loved him, loved all of them.

In the car, Justin looks at Joey and doesn't even try to hide it. He's got his hair spiked these days, the cap has kinda smushed it down but it's still trying. He's got the goatee and the mustache and the earrings, the baggy shirt and baggy long shorts, sneakers with no socks and that's the whole Joey report, head to toe.

"You're looking really good, man," Justin says as they pull out onto the highway. It feels strange to say it, but it's true; Joey has never been hard on the eyes. "You look like you did when I was eighteen."

Joey laughs. "I doubt that a lot."

"Hey, don't be talking bad about my brother."

"Justin. Come on." Joey keeps his eyes on the road, spins the wheel like a pro and heads them off toward home. He's kind of blushing a little, high in his cheeks, and Justin looks out his window to hide a smile.

"I'm just saying... I don't know what I'm saying. I just like this. This is all good."

"Better than New York, huh?" Joey says, and it's the question Justin's been waiting for all day. He was starting to think it wouldn't come. He was starting think he could answer it when it came, but he's got Joey beside him and the road up ahead and he feels too good to get into it, too good to get back under it all again.

"Trace thinks I need to get a life," he says instead, glad for the silver mirrors of his shades.

His therapist thinks he needs to get a life, too, by which he means Justin should drink less and read more and try to find a decent Relationship. Justin doesn't know where he's supposed to find the time. He thought therapy would be this great revelatory experience where his therapist would guide him with knowing looks and leading questions to some kind of life-affirming epiphany. Instead, it's him and a guy in a beige room talking about celebrity and identity for fifty minutes and six hundred dollars a week, and Justin thinks he'd probably be better off with Prozac but he knows he'd never remember to take it. The guy's name is Frank, and Frank's expressions say that missing NSYNC as much as he does is "regressive" and based in Justin's pervasive fear of failure. Justin's been seeing him for three months now and he's pretty sure Frank is full of crap.

"So what's up with Trace, anyway?"

Justin sighs. "He's in love. With a _caterer_." Justin is in no way a snob, he knows where he came from and he knows the odds are pretty good that the caterer is actually cooler than he is, but damn.

"You are so jealous," Joey says, and laughs.

"Dude, I am not jealous of Trace fucking Ayala." Justin snorts and rolls his eyes and considers flipping Joey off, but maybe that would be protesting too much. "He just, I don't know. I think he's trying to push me out of the nest or something. I'm supposed to go find my zen, or whatever." He leans back in his seat and props up one leg on the dash.

Joey's eyebrows shoot up. "Trace told you to go find your zen."

"Well, he didn't say it exactly like that -- oh, just shut the hell up, Joey," Justin growls when Joey starts laughing. He flips Joey off after all.

* * *

He's expecting something fun, he's with Joey after all, but Joey ditches him as soon as they get home. He heads up to his office to make some calls "'cause some of us did keep our day jobs, you know" and Justin has all of the evening till dinnertime to himself.

He's _thrilled_.

He tries to call Trace, but the phone rings instantly into voicemail. He tries Lance, too, but he gets Beth instead and immediately hangs up. He likes Beth, but Lance's people talk to Johnny's people and Johnny's people probably have Justin's people out with bloodhounds. He doesn't want to bug JC on promo and if he calls Chris again it'll just look needy.

He calls Bev instead, and spends half an hour getting yammered at by Taylor, who squeals "Omigodit'sJustin_Timber_lake!" loud enough to make his ears bleed.

No family resemblance there at _all_.

Right away she tells him his haircut "fucking sucks, do you not have mirrors, do people not show you the five billion pictures they take of you every fucking day? _God!_" He's guessing Bev's not home. If he's still alone when he's thirty, Justin is marrying Taylor, and he doesn't care how many times Chris kills him for it.

Later, he spends a little time out by the pool. He sits with his legs in the water and just lets the light bake into him. It's the same sun they have out in LA but here it's different; here it settles on his skin with the weight of a hundred other summer days. With Joey in the house, just upstairs, he's got an invisible line through all of them, Joey to Lance to Chris to JC. Then back to Justin again, full circle. Closed circuit. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, lets the sun blaze through his lids in pinks and greens. He thinks about staying there forever.

Forever turns out to mean until around five, when the light starts getting slanty and his skin goes a little pink and starts to itch. Possibly he fell asleep for a while. He pulls his t-shirt back on, winces a little when it scratches over his shoulders, and spends the next few minutes rubbing aloe into his skin and absolutely not thinking about skin cancer, not even a little.

Inside is cool and dim. He pads up the stairs to Joey's office and stands in the open doorway. Joey's got a G-6 that could run a space station and a flat screen display roughly the size of a car's windshield. He's using it to play SuperTetris.

"Workin' hard," Justin says, leaning against the door frame, and Joey jumps and spins so fast he knocks his mouse off the desk.

"Jesus. Warn a guy!"

"Then I wouldn't get the pleasure of watching your smooth moves, Grace."

"You know, it would not make me unhappy to kick you in the head right now."

Justin grins and drops into a crouch, cracks his knuckles. "Bring it on."

In three long strides Joey's got Justin crowded against the wall. It's not that he's fast or particularly strong, it's that Justin's still a little fuzzy from his nap that he didn't take and tired from being so overworked, and his body just doesn't want to play. That's what he tells himself, panting, Joey's forearm a solid bar across his throat. He can still breathe and talk, of course, but in the chill of the air conditioning Joey's got heat coming off him and Justin doesn't really want to do either. The important thing is, he could.

"I don't have to actually kick you in the head to prove that I can, do I?"

Justin shakes his head, no, not at all, he's completely convinced. He licks at his lips, which are suddenly dry, and doesn't look at Joey's mouth, because...that would be bad. He looks at Joey's eyes, instead, crinkled into slits, tiny laugh lines at the corners. He doesn't remember those lines being there the last time Joey was this close, but then, he doesn't remember the last time Joey was this close. Maybe never. It certainly feels new.

The lines go away when Joey stops smiling and steps back, letting Justin go. "Hey...you okay? I was just kidding around--"

"Fine," Justin says fast, "no, sorry, I'm fine. I just got a little..." _turned on_ "...dizzy, I was out in the sun too long or something. I think it baked my brain."

"Half-baked, anyway," Joey says. He smiles and puts his hand on Justin's head, scratches for a second that needs to last a lot longer. "Doesn't feel like there's too much damage."

"Believe me, man, it's a lot worse on the inside." Justin ducks away, under Joey's arm and into the hallway. "I'm gonna go shower, I think. While you make dinner."

"Hey! When did you start paying me to cook your meals?"

Justin escapes down the hallway, into his room and through it into the cool quiet of the bathroom. He presses his head against the closed door and breathes. Air goes into his lungs, oxygen flows to his brain, it's all good. Whatever it was, it was just a weird proximity thing, and of course Joey's hot, Joey gets paid to be hot. They all do. Justin's just noticing it now because he's been away so long, months since he's seen Joey for more than a quick hello, so really it's not surprising. Tomorrow he'll probably want to grope Chris, too. Chris is hot, he tells himself severely, picturing Chris in his head.

It's true, he can see it. But then he grins, and cracks, and then he can't stop laughing.

* * *

He sings in the shower, _Glasstown_ by Green Chill because that's what he's into these days. He's never going to sing like that on stage. It was hard enough to spin a rich white kid into the hip-hop craze. He was just barely cool enough for R&amp;B, but he'll never be weird enough for punk. Still, Jeff Lazkin's right in his range and Justin sounds pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.

When the water's off he hears R.E.M. pounding through the house because that's what Joey's into these days. Justin sings along with _Drive_ while he dries off, humming when he doesn't know the words. He feels clean and cool, and he's not burned, not really, though his skin goes white when he pokes the pinkish spots on his shoulders. The face in the mirror looks a lot more relaxed than it has in way too long, even if its nose is starting to peel.

In his room he pulls on a t-shirt and some sweats he finds in the drawer. The t-shirt's a little tight and probably belongs to Lance but the sweats are obviously Joey's, because they go all the way down to his ankles and they fit once he ties off the drawstring. Tomorrow he'll make Chris take him shopping. He'll make Chris buy him some stuff, that'll be fun.

He finds Joey in the kitchen, pouring ketchup from a squeeze bottle onto a hot dog. Gourmet has many meanings in the House of Fatone.

"So, when me and Kel got divorced, she got sole custody of the wedding cake."

Justin blinks. He can't tell if Joey's talking to him, or to the hot dog. "Uh. Yeah, okay."

"It's tradition. The deal is, you cut the cake, right, and everybody gets served, but you save a slice and the happy couple puts it in their freezer and then on their first anniversary, they eat it. To seal the deal, I guess. Only, Kelly and I never made it that far."

Justin pulls a stool up next to Joey and sits. "So she took the last slice with her?"

"Yeah, and the thing is, she can't even eat it. Is that dumb or what? It's just going to sit there forever, this last thing we never did together. It bugs me sometimes."

"Is this -- okay, are you telling me you want to get with Kelly again? Because I gotta tell you, dude, she loves you, but that ship has sailed."

"No!" Joey rolls his eyes at Justin. "I don't want to get back with Kelly. I'm just saying, I wish we could've eaten that slice of cake or something. I wish it wasn't just still out there."

"Well, I guess you still could --"

"No, we can't. She never ate any of it. It was supposed to be butter cream icing and instead it was marzipan, she never had a single bite of it. She's allergic to nuts."

"So...okay, is this like a metaphor? Because I'm not --"

"It's just, closure, Justin." Joey stared down at the hot dog. "That's all I'm saying. Things should end clean, when they have to end. It's better for everybody."

Justin nods slowly, and tries not to look like he's just been punched.

"It just lets things heal better."

"No, yeah. I see what you're saying."

"Yeah?" Joey laughs a little, and finally meets Justin's eyes. "I don't even know what I'm saying. Don't pay any attention to me, I'm just rambling. I had to pull the hot dogs out of the freezer, it made me think of it."

"It, no. It makes sense." Not a lot of sense, but Justin is pretty sure he gets it. An icicle of doubt slides into his heart and it's a reminder, a cold, clear reminder. It's been years since they all wanted the same things, and years do things to people. Good things, sometimes, all the guys have good things in their lives right now and it makes Justin proud and happy to know it. He just wants to be in there, too. Maybe that's selfish, maybe it's just because he's between good things himself right now, but he wants it.

They'll want it, too, when they get a chance to think about it. Right now they just don't know it yet.

"You still like mustard on yours?"

Joey's gone back to screwing around with the hot dogs, and Justin's pretty happy about that because he's had all the eye contact he needs right now. He folds his arms across his chest and looks down at the food, watching Joey's hands. "You think anything lasts forever?"

Joey puts the mustard bottle down, but he doesn't look up. "Some things. I think, yeah. Some things aren't supposed to, you know? But I think it's possible that things can." He shakes his head. "I think some things can, if you want them to."

Justin nods. Standing in Joey's kitchen, surrounded by Joey's life, that's what he wants to think, too.

* * *

So there are hot dogs, which are amazing. It's stupid, but hot dogs are really hard to make right. Justin likes the tops a little black and crispy and the insides spitting juice, and they don't get like that by spinning around on a metal spike or sitting around in a microwave.

Then there's a movie, and the couch seats three but Justin sits next to Joey. He feels right that way, and tries not to worry about why. Joey's like a wall of good feeling between Justin and the world; his arm is stretched out across the back of the couch and when Justin leans back into it, because it's _there_ and because he can, nothing looks as bad as it looks when he's on his own.

When the movie's over Justin can't remember if it was actually funny or not, but he remembers Joey's heat lined up next to him on the couch. Joey clicks off the TV with the remote and turns to look at Justin. "Can you even tell me what movie we just saw?"

Justin grins. "Nope."

Joey smiles crookedly at Justin and shakes his head. "You're gonna have to talk about this eventually, you know? Whatever this is."

"Yup." Justin grins wider, then covers his mouth to yawn. "But not tonight."

"No, not tonight," Joey says, and hauls Justin up from the couch. He lays his hand on the back of Justin's neck and squeezes. "C'mon, kiddo. Let's go to bed.

* * *

They go to Joey's bed. Justin stops in the hallway, starts to move past, but Joey takes him by the hand and pulls him in.

"It was a scary movie," Joey says defensively, answering the question Justin didn't ask. "You might have nightmares."

"It had a laugh track. It had, like. I think it had talking mice."

Joey frowns, annoyed. "Some people might find that scary."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Justin says firmly, and climbs into the bed.

* * *

He wakes up plastered against Joey's side, one arm wrapped around his waist and one leg slung over his hip. Justin doesn't even have time to be hideously, mortally embarrassed before Joey wakes up, goes bug-eyed, and starts apologizing.

It takes a few minutes, and by the time Joey starts winding down, Justin's grinning.

"...and it's just that I'm used to only sleeping with people I'm actually _sleeping with_." Joey drops a hand over his eyes and groans. "Say something. Put me out of my misery."

"Well," Justin says. "I suppose I can forgive you for crawling under me in your sleep and forcing me to leech onto you with my sweet, virginal bod. It's the least I can do, based on our long association."

Joey's eyes narrow.

"What? I'm just trying to be a gentleman--"

And then Justin is on his back. Joey is above him, grinning down, and he's got Justin by the shoulders pushing him down into the bed.

"If I gotta do the time," Joey sing-songs, giving Justin a playful shake. "Might as well do the crime."

"No, no, I, uh. Not necessary." Justin swallows hard. "We're good. It's all good. Completely natural reaction to sharing a bed with another warm body."

"You sure? If you're forgiving me, there's gotta be something to forgive, right?"

Panic flutters in Justin's chest and he pushes up at Joey to move him. It's not smart. Joey doesn't budge, and now Justin knows what Joey's chest feels like, and it feels _fine_. Yesterday wasn't a fluke, it was a sign, an omen, a warning from God, and Justin didn't see it. He didn't see it and now he's got Joey pressed against him and Justin's arms come up. His hands settle on Joey's shoulders and Joey's smile falters, his eyes get bigger, deeper somehow and that's when Justin shoves him and is suddenly on the other side of the room.

He stands there, panting, breath louder than a wind-tunnel in his own ears. Joey sits up on the bed, blinking.

"Dude," Joey says. "Weren't you just over here?"

"Um," Justin says. Very convincingly, he thinks, considering.

And then he bolts.

* * *

He's standing in the middle of the kitchen when Joey finds him. He makes a weird half-move to try to look like he's doing something, like he remembered some very important thing he had to do in the kitchen at just that particular moment; but Joey's not buying it, so Justin just stands there and waits.

Joey stands there too, just for a second. Then he moves over to the counter and grabs a wooden spoon out of a jar and stands there... holding a wooden spoon. He fiddles with it purposefully and Justin rolls his eyes. Yeah. He's not buying it, either.

Joey says, "So."

Justin doesn't say anything. It's not a lack of will, it's a lack of substance. There's not a single thing he can think of to say that excuses wanting to jump Joey's bones right now.

Joey twirls the spoon between his fingers like a baton. "So...?"

"So, Chris should be here soon," Justin says, "it's almost, what, it's almost noon. I haven't seen him in months."

The spoon keeps spinning. Joey comes closer. Justin backs up as far as he can back up, hits the counter island, and stops. Joey doesn't.

"I'm thinking," Joey says, from right inside Justin's personal space bubble. "I'm thinking it's not Chris we need to be talking about right now."

Justin nods. Joey takes a step closer and puts the spoon down, thank God, but then he puts his hands on Justin's hips and tugs, just a little tug, and. He shouldn't, Justin thinks, the timing is stupid, but Joey's hands slide up his sides and he's just watching Justin now, watching everything, and Justin feels like glass, completely transparent.

"This okay?"

Joey says it from so close Justin can feel his breath, but his voice shakes and his eyes, when Justin looks into them, it's like he can see everything.

"Yeah," he says, "Yeah, it's okay. It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Justin shows him; he shifts closer, and their bodies come together. He's shivering, a constant vibration in his bones, hot and weird and good all at once. His hands come up to Joey's arms and wrap around, and there's muscle under his hands, strong, hard muscle that flexes when Joey's hands tighten, when Joey takes a quick, harsh breath and leans down and opens Justin up with his tongue.

Joey's like this: He's soft in some places, smooth and warm, but his hands are strong and they know just where to touch. He's still warm from sleep and his skin has almost a grain, a texture to it that catches at Justin's fingertips. His mouth is hot and wet and sloppy and there's no plan to what he does with it, but what he does with it pushes Justin up onto the counter and makes him drag Joey closer, between his legs.

Justin's got his eyes closed and behind his lids he sees them, pressed up against Joey's cabinets, hands in each other's clothes, breathing each other's air. There's a buzz of anticipation in his skin and touch only makes it worse, harder to think, just. Harder.

He presses his forehead against Joey's and there's a space between them, hot with panting, and while Justin watches Joey brings his hand down over him, presses in. Justin hears his breath whistle through his teeth and drives his hips up into the touch. He reaches up and holds Joey's head still and his tongue is in Joey's mouth, his legs are cinched tight around Joey's waist and they've stopped making out somewhere in the middle, now they're having sex and it's good, really good, and so of _course_

That's when the doorbell rings.

Joey puts both hands on the counter on either side of Justin's knees, and drops his head onto Justin's shoulder. For a few seconds, they're still, breathing hard into each other and trying to let go. The doorbell rings again, and Joey pushes back from the counter and laughs shakily, running a hand over his hair. Justin hops off the counter and lifts his hands to Joey's hair; Joey stands still, eyes on Justin's, while Justin strokes his hair back into the spikes he pulled it out of moments before.

Justin smiles, halfway. "Fucking Chris."

"Yeah." Joey shakes his head. He smiles back, and runs his thumb over Justin's collarbone in a slow, hot line. "Later, though, okay?"

Justin's eyes drop to Joey's mouth. He can't imagine not being there again, soon. Now. "Oh, yeah."

He sways closer, and Joey pushes him back, grinning. "Go get the door."

* * *

The door's barely open when Chris barrels through it and tackles Justin to the marble floor. He grabs the waist of Justin's pants and yanks upward, shouts with laughter when Justin shrieks, then goes for the hair. Justin thanks the Lord above that there's not really enough to give Chris a solid grip. It takes a minute to get his feet under him, then Justin dumps Chris to the floor and stands over him, panting for breath and laughing till his chest aches.

"Ow!" Chris whines, "Ow, ow, my knees, you broke my knees!"

"Get up, you big whiner." Justin grabs Chris's hand and hauls him up to his feet. "I didn't touch your fugly little knees."

"Maybe it was my back." Chris grins, dusts off his pants, then offers his hand to shake. "Mr. Timberlake, I presume."

Justin grins. "Fuck off." He grabs Chris and hauls him into his chest, pins him there until Chris stops flailing and starts hugging back. "I love you, man," Justin says. "Dude, be still."

"I can't _breathe_!" Chris shouts into Justin's shoulder.

Justin lets go, even though Chris sure can yell for a guy who can't get any air. Chris just rolls his eyes and steps back. "How did you even know I'd be the one to answer the door?"

Chris blinks at Justin, blank-faced. "I didn't."

He looks good; Justin's not sure he remembers Chris looking this good. He may have to re-evaluate that hotness thing. He looks comfortable, scruffy-casual, his hair short and wild, his eyes almost weirdly calm. He looks happy, that's the thing; happy and rested. He's got shades pushed back in his hair, gum in his mouth, silver rings in his ears. Justin thinks somewhere back in the hazy beginning he must have imprinted or something, because whatever look Chris tries, he always looks like the coolest guy ever to Justin.

Chris is looking him over, too, but when he's done he frowns. He steps up and tilts Justin's head to one side. "Dude, you have a _hickey_."

Justin shoves him away, but he can't completely hide his grin. "I do not. Shut up."

Chris grabs him again, pinching at his neck. "Oh, gross, it's still _wet!_ Jesus, J, who you got up in here, you bring some groupies?" He grins. "Can I have one?"

"Shh! Geez, don't yell!"

"Well, come on. Who is she? Who is he?"

"Not now." He angles his eyes wildly toward the kitchen, willing Chris to catch on.

"Where's Joey?"

"He went to get dressed. We just got up, man, it's early. I haven't even had coffee yet, I haven't showered... We gotta go get me something to wear, I've only got one set of clothes. We'll talk then, okay?"

Chris rolls his eyes. "Like I actually care who you're sucking face with on any given day. I was just trying to be polite, show an interest."

Justin laughs. "Ass."

"Don't insult me, little boy, I am here to save the day." Chris ducks back out the door for a second, and comes back with a carry-tray with three huge cups. "For I am Coffee-Man! And I bring you tidings of great caffeine."

It smells so good, Justin thinks about just inhaling it. "I love you," he says reverently. "What did you bring for you and Joey?"

* * *

They find Joey on the phone in the kitchen, still in the sweats he slept in. He hangs up immediately, without even saying goodbye.

"Rude much?"

Chris gets those two words before Joey swallows him up in a hug and lifts him off his feet. "Hi!" Joey says, smiling so hard his eyes crinkle up and disappear. "We didn't expect you so early."

"Way early," Justin mutters. "Too early, some might say."

Chris says, "Mrmph!"

"What?" Joey sets Chris down and steadies him when he starts to totter. "You okay?"

"I was fine. Now I've got a collapsed lung and a couple broken ribs."

Chris is fine. Justin laughs at the two of them and grabs his cup of coffee. It's just as good as it smells, and he drinks it slow while Joey and Chris catch up. There's something different in the air when there are more than two of them together, and Justin loves it. He feeds off it, gets energy from it somehow. It just washes over him like a tide and every wave makes him stronger. They need it, too, Justin's sure of it, and that's got to be worth some sacrifices, from all of them, that's got to be worth letting some things slide.

_So fucking selfish_, he reminds himself. But he's a little too high on the three of them to care.

* * *

When Joey disappears upstairs to get dressed, Chris crosses the room and leans next to Justin. He puts his coffee down and waits, still as a statue raised to honor patience.

Then he says, "Spill it, dude, it's not like I have all day."

"Actually, we do."

"Okay, it's not like you have all day, as I'm gonna have to kick your ass in a minute if you don't start talking." He looks sideways at Justin and waggles his eyebrows, grinning. "Tell all. Start with the hickey."

Justin smiles into his cup. "I made out with Joey on the kitchen counter." Just thinking about it makes him tingle in the best wrong places.

"Joey Fatone? Straight Joey Fatone, with the ex-wife and the kid and the string of broken women littering hotel parking lots from Berlin to Orlando?" Chris blinks, and gives his head a sudden shake. "That Joey Fatone?"

"Just before you came in." Justin catches Chris's eye and grins helplessly. "Dude, it was so, so hot."

Chris comes off the counter like a shot, rubbing his hands on his jeans. His voice is clearly at the top of its game because he could shatter glass with his outraged, "--wait, _this_ counter?"

Justin doubles over laughing. "Chris. Man, the look on your face."

Chris inspects his hands, then puts them on his hips and glares at Justin. "Are you shitting me? You and Joey?"

Justin shivers pleasantly, a happy rush through his blood, right down to his bones. "Me and Joey. I mean, I think. We didn't get a chance to really talk about it, some dork was leaning on the doorbell."

Chris looks vaguely ill and vaguely fascinated. "This is so wrong. I feel like I should call child welfare or something. Joey was out humping groupies while you were off doing your algebra homework. Also I'm pretty sure he's blood kin, man."

Justin gazes up at the ceiling and prays for patience. "He's not the first geezer bandmate who ever wanted to jump my pretty little bones, Chris."

"Hey, I was drunk that time."

"Still counts."

"Anyway, I thought you were JC."

Justin tilts his head and considers. "No, still counts."

Chris grins. "Y'all were the same height, back then. Just for a little while."

"Perv."

"Lolita."

"Chicken hawk."

"Hey, JC was plenty old enough."

"Well, I'm plenty old enough now." Justin holds Chris's eyes. "Be cool with this."

"Aww. Hey, come on." Chris hooks a hand around the back of Justin's neck and shakes him like a giant puppy. "You look happy. You know I'm cool with that."

"I am." Justin nods slowly, feeling out the words. "Man...I think I actually am."

* * *

Joey comes back in jeans and a black t-shirt, shooting Justin a look that's probably supposed to be subtle. Justin tries to convey _yes, Joey, you're hot_ with his eyebrows while Chris says, "So Joey, how often do you clean these counters?"

Joey blinks. "What?"

Justin makes frantic throat-slashing motions with his hand, but Chris is unstoppable. "Justin told me y'all were halfway to The Big O when I horned in on the party. Seriously, man, get a room. People eat in here."

"Justin!"

It's not actually possible to menace one person while trying to look innocent for another, but Justin tries. He spoils it by slugging Chris on the arm, hard. "You are such an asshole."

"Ow, fuck! That's gonna leave a bruise." Chris grins. "Next, on Access Hollywood..."

"I can't believe you told him!" Joey eyes Justin with disgust, and Justin feels like a bug. Like a very small, sad, loud-mouthed bug who doesn't know how to treat a nice guy like Joey Fatone.

He hunches his shoulders in and glares in self-defense. "I can't believe you thought I wouldn't."

"It was five minutes ago! Jesus, the corpse isn't even cold yet."

"The corpse?" Justin smirks. "I'm a corpse now? Did I feel like a corpse a few minutes ago when I was sucking down your tongue?"

Chris's eyebrows go up. "Okay, ew."

"I can't believe you told him," Joey says again, ignoring Chris. "That's so tacky."

Chris's grin just gets wider. "Trouble in Paradise." He slides his shades down over his eyes. "My work here is done."

* * *

Justin sends Chris into town to pick up some clothes, from Target because Chris swears he can still get away with it. Once he's gone, Justin finds Joey in his favorite chair in the living room, flipping through a copy of _Variety_. There's sun all around him, but the chair is in a cool puddle of shadow.

Justin stands behind him and rests his hands on Joey's shoulders. Even this feels different; he's done it a thousand times but it's never meant anything like what it means to Justin right now. At the same time it's so familiar he can't believe it wasn't like this all along.

Justin's not a possessive guy but there's a connection there, something strong, and it's not that he doesn't want anybody else touching Joey ever again. It's that the way this feels, he's not really sure anybody else ever _could_.

His fingers sweep in and he touches skin, trails lightly over Joey's throat. "Anything in there about me being an ass?"

"Nah. That's old news."

Joey tilts his head back and smiles at Justin upside down. Relieved, Justin smiles back and moves his hands to the sides of Joey's face. He runs his fingers over Joey's cheeks, down his nose, over his lips.

"How could I not tell Chris about something like this?"

Joey's smile grows, and Justin comes around the chair. He lays his hands gently over Joey's knees, slides them apart and sinks down between them.

"Is this later?" Joey's eyes are dark and wide.

Justin smiles. "This is now."

* * *

When Chris gets back to the house three hours later, he's wearing a brown wool hat and reeking of Sharpie. "They caught me coming out of the maternity section. Ten of 'em, thirteen to thirty, and a couple of guys who weren't just there for their girlfriends. That is one diverse fan base we still apparently have."

"Told you," Justin says smugly. He's feeling so generous he doesn't even check the bags. "And it ain't necessarily 'we'. I saw an article about your group in _Teen Beat _just last week."

"I don't know what's worse: _Teen Beat_ still finding me newsworthy at thirty-four, or the fact that you're still reading it."

"It's market research, yo. I'm slavishly devoted to the people. It's all about the fans."

"It's creepy," Joey says, coming up behind them. "I'm telling your mother."

Chris takes off the hat and tosses it at a coat rack. He misses completely, but doesn't seem to care. "I'd have been back sooner," he says to Justin, "but I picked you up something pretty."

"If there's a muumuu in one of these bags..."

"Nah. Go take a look, it's out in the car."

"Aww," Justin says sweetly. "I didn't get you anything." He pulls open the door and stops in front of it, blinking.

JC pulls off his shades and grins. "Dude! I didn't get you anything, either."

* * *

Chris has been kind of busy and Lance has been kind of busy and Joey has been kind of a dad, so also busy. Justin's hooked up with them when he's had the time, not as much as he'd like, but a dinner or a lunch or a day or so, here and there.

JC has been having a career. He's been having the kind of career most people only dream about. The reviewers don't love him but he drives the crowds crazy, and he's been touring pretty much constantly since his first album dropped. The second sold more than the first one and he's solid, working harder than he's ever worked. He's not making a lot of money but he's not losing any, and if Justin can judge from a few hurried phone calls and an email here and there, he's having the time of his life.

He doesn't call as often as he used to, and he doesn't always pick up his voice mail. It's been almost a year. His circle and Justin's circle only really intersect at the other guys. There have been times lately when Justin has wondered if JC remembers his phone number. Of all of them, it's JC who worries Justin the most, JC who's armored himself in a new life that doesn't seem to have any chinks.

And then suddenly JC's standing there in front of him and Justin missed him so much, he can't move or say anything or do anything for a second. Chris is laughing beside Justin and Joey's got his hands on Justin's shoulders, squeezing. He gives Justin a shake and shoves him forward.

JC hugs him so hard he can't breathe. Justin hugs back just as hard. Four of them, that's all he can think; that and, incoherently, _JC!_ Getting hugged by JC is like getting annexed; he moves in and sets up housekeeping.

It's how JC smells that really makes Justin feel stupid, because it's linked into his lizard-brain, so familiar to Justin it feels like an extension of himself. There's nothing he wants more than to just stand there a while longer, but he gives JC a squeeze and pushes him back. "Do they feed you on these promo tours?"

"I eat." JC smiles and stays latched onto Justin's arms. "Be still. I want to get a look at you, dawg, I hear you haven't been doing too good."

He looks Justin over, sharp eyes filled with concern. Justin stands as still as he can, vibrating with excitement. It feels like Christmas and his birthday and the Fourth of July, all rolled into one.

JC shakes his head and grins. "You'll live," he says firmly, like he's casting a deciding vote.

Then he tilts Justin's head back and says to Joey, "Good work, man. Simple, but colorful."

Justin buries his face in his hands.

* * *

Joey and Chris, because they're good people, leave Justin alone with JC in the kitchen. Justin doesn't even listen to the excuse. He grabs two beers from the fridge and sits down at the kitchen table. JC takes a spot across from him, and for a few seconds they don't talk. It's enough, for now, to just pick up the easy quiet where they left off.

When JC breaks the silence, Justin almost doesn't notice. JC's got a way of blending in when he wants to, sliding into a mood so easy it doesn't even ripple.

"Missed you, J." He takes a long, slow pull from his bottle, never taking his eyes off Justin. "I've been hearing some stuff."

"Swear to God, C, I did not tell Carson Daly you liked hairy women. I think he just makes this shit up."

JC smiles kindly, but there's something immovable in his eyes and it's like Justin didn't say anything at all. "Joey says you bailed on production and a shitload of promo. He says you're not eating right, which ain't new, and he hasn't seen your cell since you got here."

Gritting his teeth, Justin says, "Joey's got a big mouth."

"You look good, man, but I'm worried. These losers don't yank me off Boston and fly me to Orlando for nothing. What do you need?"

"JC--"

"Seriously, don't pull that 'I'm fine' crap with me. I love you, but I got twenty-four hours here and I intend to spend at least sixteen of them sleeping."

There's a dark line running through the fine wood grain of the table. Justin traces it with his finger, all the way to JC's bottle. He flicks his eyes up at JC and finds that worried look getting darker by the second. He pushes back into his chair and shakes his head. "Y'all don't get it. I really am fine. I'm not trying to push you back. Anything but."

"Joey and Chris say different. You got us running scared, man. If you have something you need to say, you need to say it."

"I...don't." Justin's shoulders twitch; he hates lying, it just complicates things, and even worse he hates to lie to JC. "I don't, yet. I mean, maybe. I didn't expect everybody to rearrange their schedules just for me."

JC gives him a look. "On what planet would we not do that?"

"What I'm saying is, I didn't ask you to."

"And what I'm saying is, you didn't have to ask."

Justin winces. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, good." JC clicks his bottle against Justin's and finishes it off. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes Justin curiously. "So, since you know so much, tell me why you're hiding from your career under Joey's bed."

Justin meets JC's eyes and says very calmly, "I need you to be cool with that."

"I'm totally cool with you and Joey, man, that's great. If you guys are good for each other, and if you guys make each other happy, I am all about that."

"Good."

"What I'm not so cool with is you ducking out on your people, and Johnny on the phone with my assistant every five minutes, and all my interviews closing with 'hey, where'd Justin go?' You may not like your record, but I'm kind of fond of mine. I like to talk about it."

Justin closes his eyes. Because, of course JC likes to talk about it. It's his, he loves it, he loves what he's doing. It shines out of him so bright it's blinding and this is just JC sitting in a kitchen somewhere, not JC on stage. It occurs to Justin that there's a reason he hasn't gone to any of JC's shows.

"I just needed a break, you know?" Justin slides his hands out over the table, fingers spread wide. The wood is cool and smooth. If he just sits still and breathes and doesn't look JC directly in the eye, he doesn't have to see anything he doesn't want to.

"Of course I know." JC picks up Justin's hand and grips it in one of his. "See this? We all know. The break is not the problem."

"Then I don't get why I have to talk about it right now. Can't we just barbecue something and pretend to have room for each other for a while? Just for tonight?"

"Justin--"

"No, just. Fuck, I didn't mean that." Justin slams down his bottle and stands up. He puts his back to JC and goes to stand in front of the window. JC does it to him every time, makes him say too much, go too far.

"Yeah, you did." JC's hands are on his shoulders, holding on tight. "You gotta let us help you with whatever this is, Justin. We're here for you, and it's probably not as bad as you think."

The hill outside slopes away from them, thick with trees. When Justin shifts he can feel something liquid and unsteady fluttering in his muscles, his bones, and he knows that feeling from Germany and a show every night, sometimes two: the last tattered shreds of his control. These last few days have put more back into him than he'd even known he'd lost, and he still feels empty enough to echo sometimes. He needs more, and the more they give him the more he knows he can't just take it.

He can't take anything away from them, and he's a fucking idiot for ever thinking he could.

"Some time off, that'll be good for you," JC says. He gets between Justin and the window, makes him make eye contact. "You're disappearing around the edges, man. I don't begrudge you the time. I'm just saying, there may be a better way to do it. A way that doesn't involve the Bureau of Missing Persons."

"I never wanted this." Justin's jaw clenches and relaxes and his throat aches and he's not going to break down, because he's not having a breakdown. He's having a _break_. He swallows once, hard. "This, whatever." He waves at the distance between the two of them but he means the distance between the five of them, the way nobody came to his second launch and the way JC hasn't played him any songs and the way Chris has a band Justin hasn't even met yet.

"Justin, we're all going to be fine. Whatever you decide to do, we're all going to support you, that's just how it works, man."

"It's not just me. It's all of us. You're out on tour and Chris is cheating on us with another group and Joey had to get married and divorced, and now he's acting again and you're on TRL all, _yeah, sure I support J's next album_ and you know what? I don't even _have_ a next album." His hands are starting to shake and he clenches them tight around his elbows. "And Lance --"

"What about Lance?" Lance says from somewhere behind him, and Justin nearly comes out of his skin.

"Mother_fucker_!"

"Awwww. Did I scare you so bad you forgot the list of my sins?"

"Like I could." Justin's heart hasn't stopped pounding and he feels a flush creeping over his skin. He takes a half-hearted swing at Lance, who doesn't even bother to duck; he just stands there by his luggage, jet-lagged and worn but smiling, all big red cheeks and big green eyes and Justin can't even hate him.

He hugs him, instead, like it's the last chance he's ever going to get. "I can't believe you're back."

Lance shrugs and pushes back from Justin. He's wearing yesterday's jeans and yesterday's t-shirt and a warm, open smile that comes from a lot further back than that. "Y'all know I hate to miss a party."

"I'm glad you're here."

Lance gives Justin's shoulder a squeeze. "Me, too."

"Me, too," JC says, bouncing up on the balls of his feet.

Justin smiles. "You guys hang out." He looks from one to the other and thinks, _five, finally, five_ and then looks at a spot over JC's shoulder because he feels too much to look too close for too long. "I have some stuff to do, I'll catch up in a few minutes."

"Stuff to think about?" JC watches Justin, a tiny frown creasing his forehead.

"Little of both," Justin says.

And then he goes upstairs to pack.

* * *

He's sitting on the edge of his bed, T-shirts and jeans and a horrible baby blue granddad jumpsuit scattered around him, when Joey knocks on the open door. He watches Joey cross the floor. It's like watching two Joeys, the one he's kind of with and the one he's in a group with. It should be good, twice the Joey, only Justin's not sure which one he's looking at.

"Justin."

Joey tugs at the strap of Justin's duffle bag. Justin doesn't want to let go. If he lets go, it leaves him nothing to do with his hands. He's so tired he can't think.

"Come on, you can't."

"I know," he says. "I know I can't. I can't even want to. God, I'm such an asshole."

Joey sits down next to him. "It's never bothered me before," he offers.

Justin laughs. He can hear his voice break in the middle but he can't do anything about it. It's not funny, but he laughs again anyway and edges closer to Joey, pushing the bags Chris brought for him to the floor. He doesn't even know how they got up here. He drops the duffle and scrubs his hands over his face.

"I'm so fucked up right now, Joey. I don't even know where to start."

"Can I help?"

"I don't know."

"No." Joey puts his hands on Justin's face and turns him; Justin blinks, and Joey's eyes are so close they're all that he can see. "_May_ I help?"

"Yes." Justin nods slowly. "Yeah."

"You start by moving your stuff to my room, because I don't want you to leave."

"I should, though."

"Christ, what did JC say to you?"

"Nothing." Justin falls back onto the bed. He stretches his arms out on either side and stares up at the blank white ceiling. He sighs. "Nothing important. Anyway, it wasn't JC. He just...he made me have a little talk with myself that I've been putting off for a while."

"How'd that go?"

"Pretty much like you'd expect."

"Good guys won, huh?"

Justin turns his head to look at Joey. There's just never been a moment when Joey's doubted him, not even one, and if Justin's not very very careful he's going to cry or fling himself on Joey or mortify himself in some other unoriginal way.

Joey pokes Justin in the side. "So, out with it. What did you have to say to yourself?"

Justin takes a deep breath and lets it out slow, just like Frank the Shrink taught him. "That if I'm honest, which apparently I am now that JC fucking Chasez has something to say about it, I may possibly not always know what's good for me." He laughs a little, shaking his head. "JC, man. Not a guy for pulling his punches."

Joey kicks his shoes off, and shoves some more stuff off the bed. "Come here," he says, and pulls Justin up the bed, right beside him.

"I'm really freaking everybody out."

"Pretty much." Joey settles himself against the cushions, and hauls Justin a little bit closer. "Still looks like you're getting the worst of it."

Justin turns so he can look up at Joey, really look at him. He looks so calm, so solid, but there's something going on back there, in his head, Justin can see it. Joey's got himself braced. Behind his eyes somewhere, he's battened down his hatches. Justin doesn't like it; it's not the way he feels with Joey so it's not the way Joey should feel with him. The absolute necessity of not fucking this up in a huge and major way twists like nausea in the pit of Justin's stomach.

He reaches up to run his fingers over Joey's cheek, down to rest lightly over the steady pulse in his throat. "Joey, this...I mean, us, we're not about anything else that's going on with me."

"I can understand if--"

"Yeah, I know you would. But it's not. It's not because I'm lonely, or freaked out, or mad, or anything. It's just because of you. And, okay, me. But, just so you know. It's not like a symptom or anything."

Joey is still, still, still. Carefully, he says, "You don't have to be sure about that right now."

"I am, though."

"I don't know how."

Justin shrugs. "I don't know either." He drops his head back onto Joey's shoulder and pulls Joey's arm up over his chest. "I just am, okay?"

"Okay."

"You believe me?"

Joey scratches his fingers through Justin's hair. "I trust you."

Justin rubs his cheek against Joey's shirt, breathing him in. "You think I'm good for you?"

"I think so." Joey's arm tightens around him. "I'm all about finding out."

* * *

They're waiting in the kitchen, three of them around Joey's kitchen table. They're trying really hard not to look like they're waiting, but they jump a little when Justin comes in, Joey following right behind him. JC's fidgeting with a napkin, and Lance, who looks like 'jet lag' has earned a place on his gravestone, is drinking from a steaming cup of coffee the size of his head. Chris has five beer bottles lined up in a row in front of him, all empty.

When Justin sits down, Joey sits beside him.

"So," Justin says. He lays his hands flat on the table. His leg won't stop jittering. He's had all the private, Very Special Conversations he thinks he can handle for one lifetime, but the four of them all at once is kinda spooky.

He's glad he jotted down some notes.

"Justin. Man, just say it," JC says in a kind, soft voice. "We're not gonna get mad."

"I might get mad," Chris pipes up. JC flicks a spitball into Chris's face and glares. "Okay, fine, I won't get mad." Chris rolls his eyes, and hunches down behind his wall of bottles.

"Okay. Here's the thing. I've been giving this a lot of thought, and I have. Okay, I kind of wrote a little speech."

"Oh, dear God," Lance's head falls forward into his hands. "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Bad karma." Chris grins. "No donut!"

Justin ignores them. "After a while in this industry you stop getting paid to do what you do and start getting paid to be famous. That's usually a good thing because being famous has a way of taking what you do away from you. I don't think it worked that way for us, though. We still do what we love, but we're slipping away from each other. We started out five guys on a bus, and after we nearly lost everything, we split down to three and two. I wonder now if that wasn't when it started."

"He's writing our _Behind the Music_," Chris stage-whispers to JC. "Just remember. I know stuff about you, too."

"Can you shut up?" Justin breathes deep and clutches the tattered remains of his patience. "I'm trying to have a moment here."

Chris smirks, but keeps his mouth shut.

"Thank you. Like I was saying. I miss you guys." Joey's hand slides over to hold Justin's, and Justin squeezes back, white-knuckled. "I don't like this. I don't like not calling, and not seeing you. I know we're all doing our own things, I know that. And I swear to God, I would not for the life of me ever want you to give those things up. But if we're like -- if we're a family, and I feel like we are, I just think. I mean, don't you think we should act like it?"

Joey blinks. He turns to Justin, wide-eyed. Justin blinks back at him. "What?"

"J, what are you saying?"

"I know -- okay. We're all at different places in our lives and we can't realistically work together right now. I get that." He doesn't add, _finally_, but he feels like it's pretty evident. "I was just thinking maybe we could do other stuff, instead. Like, maybe we could take some vacations together, just the five of us. Or holidays or something. We're always saying we're still together, you know? We should make it a point to actually _be_ together."

Four sets of eyes stare at Justin like he's not even speaking their language.

"Look, it's not like I want your firstborn, okay? A trip to the fucking Ozarks, is that too much to ask?" He's not asking them to go on safari, for fuck's sake. He just wants a piece of them back to keep, and for them to have a piece of him, and he doesn't think that's so crazy, and anyway, who says they get to decide what happens to the group? Justin slouches down in his chair, sulking. "It's just a _vacation_."

JC doesn't react. Justin watches him, then looks at all the others looking to JC to see how to react. He sinks down a little lower, low enough to kick at JC's ankles under the table. "Talk, C."

JC shakes his head slowly. "Vacations?" he says. Confusion ripples his brow and widens his eyes. "Like. Vacations?"

"Together," Justin clarifies quickly. "All of us. I think we need to bond."

"Vacations," JC says again, softly. "I'm not -- Dude. That is so not what I thought you were going to say."

A silence threatens to fall, but Chris is there to break it. He laughs in a weird way, breathless, and says, "Dude." His eyes are shining with relief.

"What?" Justin snaps his head around. "I think it's a great idea. I don't hear any of you guys coming up with anything better."

JC lays a hand on Justin's arm; he's smiling, finally, it's slow but it's definitely there. "We thought you were breaking up with us, J. We were...a little concerned."

"You thought--" Justin blinks at JC. "Wait, you thought _what_?"

"I got drunk for this!" Chris tells the ceiling, then doubles over laughing again.

Justin falls back into his chair, watching his friends. "That's what y'all were falling all over yourselves to support?"

"You have been acting pretty weird, J," Joey says softly. "We thought maybe you thought it was time to cut the cord."

Justin's eyes narrow. "Y'all line up to tell me how to manage my life, but not one of you can find the nerve to say 'hey, Justin, please don't quit the band'? How come I have to spill _my_ guts?" He folds his arms deliberately, bites his lip, and with every ounce of will he has, he doesn't smile. "This is just fucking like you people. Seriously, I do not know why I bother."

"I love it when he acts thirteen." Chris beams across the table at Lance, who looks like the happiest mostly-unconscious person ever. "It makes me feel like a kid again."

* * *

It makes Justin dizzy, how fast it comes together. They all talk at once, voices rising and falling, and it's like a wild harmony, no reason to it, just sound. Trace doesn't know shit if he thinks this isn't a life. But then, Trace drove him back to it, so maybe he knows a little more than he lets on. If he ever comes back with his caterer, Justin's going to throw them one hell of an expensive party.

Lance is on his own cell with a travel agent and on JC's cell with his manager. JC and Chris huddle over a calendar arguing about the best time of year for fishing in Pennsylvania. Justin's pretty sure JC doesn't even like fishing, but he loves arguing with Chris, and Justin loves watching him do it.

Justin looks up at Joey, Joey who's got his hands on Justin's shoulders to keep him from coming apart with relief and who's looking right back at him with the warmest, brightest eyes Justin's ever seen.

"Sorry," Justin says softly, leaning back into Joey's grip. "I know you're a big fan of closure."

"Fuck closure," Joey says, his face lighting up with a grin.

* * *


End file.
